Midnight's Guide to Escaping the Dark Lord
by MidnightFedora
Summary: Not once had the Dark Lord ever been given fashion advice. Not once. And who could blame the masses that avoided this very chore? He'd probably crucio anyone who dared. But Midnight has a very strong opinion of his clothing choice- She's not about to let some silly life-or-death situation intrude on that... Well, maybe if it were to save her life...


**Greetings!**

**This has a simple explanation, really. Often, I'll have a certain opinion of some aspect of a movie, and then I'll daydream up some amusing, though not always, situation in which I find myself stating that opinion. Thus, I've decided to create one-shots for any decent ones I think of, and this just happened to be the first. **

**I'm not working on Like No Other at the moment, because I'm not interested in Pokemon at the moment. I started watching Naruto again- thus the creation of 'Let Him Go', and thus I started reading Naruto fanfiction. I can assure you, I've got a wonderful number of Naruto fanfic ideas from this. At first, I wasn't really interested in Harry Potter fanfiction (but usually, once I take that step there's no going back...), until I came across one particular Naruto/Harry Potter cross-over. This involved an old, powerful, juubi-carrying, two century old Naruto, dying, sending himself in the time stream, and then proceeding to become Harry Potter... And thus, I started reading Harry Potter fanfiction, and figured out why so many people become obsessed with it. I know I am.**

**So, here we are, me with a little boring one-shot and you people (*is pointing to all the LNO fans*) wanting to kill me. **

**Please don't kill me.**

**Well, I'm trying to get back into Pokemon again, for your sakes, because the gods know that I won't get anything done with snitches, spells, and Hogwarts buzzing 'round my brain. But, really, the HP fandom is so... _extensive. _It might take me a little while to become bored enough with it.**

**Ah, well. It's not like I'm being paid for it. And you don't know where I live.**

**I hope not, at least.**

**I do not own Harry Potter.**

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><p>Not once had the Dark Lord ever been given fashion advice. Not once. And who could blame the masses that avoided this very chore? He'd probably <em>crucio <em>anyone who dared.

Me, well, it was an accident. Basic, tasteful clothes and the fedora that never left my head, I knew that I did fairly well. With clothes that is. With avoiding awkward situations? Not so much. Really, I was just taking a walk, and I fell down a bloody rabbit hole. Thinking I might be about to meet the Mad Hatter, I felt pretty gypped when I instead fell out of a fire place-of all things!

And, well, it was pretty disorientating. One moment I was in the woods, the next I was in the bloody Ministry of Magic.

Fairly sure that ain' supposed to exist.

Fudge was there, gaping. So was a bunch of other people, also gaping. Though, they weren't gaping at me- they were ignoring me actually, the rude pricks. Dumbledore looked a bit scruffed up, but that was nothing compared to the sorry state Harry Potter'd found himself displaying.

Funnily enough, the one person that all the attention in the room was the only one paying any attention to m-_oh gods when did I start sounding like a whiny brat?_

Ahem. Well, Dark Lord Moldewort, the hater-of-muggles, half-blood-hypocrite, evil-snake-faced-one, keeper-of-too-many-hyphens himself stood there in all his dark clothed glory, looking rightly pissed at me for strolling in on his epic return sequence. Seeing that wand pointed in my direction, I knew I either had to get out, or become a bloody Gryffindor and say something stupid that has no chance of saving my life.

Now, it's supposed to be the evil house and all, but I truly fancy myself a Slytherin. I was smart, cunning, willing to do anything to get what I wanted, and I was great at acting like a pompous ass.

Thus I have no bloody idea why the next events occurred. I don't.

Standing, I quickly brushed myself off, before sticking my nose up at what Voldemort would soon believe was his fashion choice.

"Sorry, Sir, but I think there's something wrong with your fashion choice. There's just something…_missing._"

That certainly got everyone's attention. Yet it only momentarily prevented me from being cursed through to the next Sunday.

I scrutinised him for a moment. I was being entirely truthful, really. I had always through something was off. I suddenly crowed in triumph, having figured out what it was.

"_Sleeves!"_

Okay, _now _they start gaping at me. Even Moldewort's joined in by this point. Harry's half dead and still managing to look at me like I've no mind!

"It's the sleeves, I tell you! You see, they're there, but they're too short any flare-ey! They seem to completely disappear when you raise your arms, too. Look, I've nothing against your arms," There was no way for me to say that better, okay! "But those sleeves are doing absolutely nothing for the notion that you waltz around in a dress for these little forays. A sleeveless dress, at that."

Now, looking back on that, I won't say it was Gryffindor-ish, because it saved my bloody life. I swear, I was planning to stump them all along, honestly! How else did you think I managed to walk back out the fire place with my hide intact?

Magical London bustled around me.

Stupid bloody one-way rabbit holes.

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><p><strong>Because I have absolutely no problems with spoilers, my next one-shot will be the likely argument that would occur if I was needed to be sorted...<strong>

**Because I simply can't wear a hat that isn't a Fedora.**

**Cheers!**

**- Midnight.**


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